And Weep
by sneauxfo
Summary: AU. In which Gatlocke wins, but Rex is the winner. Gatlex.


**Title-** And Weep

**Content-** Mentions of domesticity. Crying fetish. Touches of asphyx. Groping. Oral.

**Sum-** AU. In which Gatlocke wins, but Rex is the winner. Gatlex.

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The next discharge came at him from seven o'clock. Rex side-flipped out of trajectory, dirt and dried grass flying up around him as the blast hit hillside. He was ready when Gatlocke flew through the dust cloud at him, the telltale glow of heat lighting up his cannons. Rex spun his legs to propel himself away as another wave of red plasmic heat grazed his clothes.

He came out of the motion with a punk buster ready and swinging. The spikes off his toes caught one of Gatlocke's arms, causing it to misfire away from Rex. Gatlocke still had his other arm- he geared it to double-blades, aiming at the build's smallest point to sever the it clean off Rex's leg. But Rex already had a funchuck set, knocking Gatlocke away before the strike was dealt.

Rex landed in a skid, allowing the momentum to ease him farther downhill and increase the distance between them. He saw Gatlocke touch ground shoulder-first, rolling on on impact. But his pursuer wasn't down for long, stretching out a long leg to regain orientation and hoisting himself against the earth's decline to make chase down the slope. He had both arms geared as cannons again.

It was a good time to assume the block party. Rex kept the translucent blue shield above his knees to not hitch on the dirt and interrupt the smooth glide he'd gotten, and made sure it stretched over his head since Gatlocke had the favored angle currently. Rex should have been good. Or that's what he thought, at least.

Predictably, Gatlocke charged, firing both cannons fruitlessly into the block party. Rex exhaled, letting the muscles in his arms relax. He should have been good.

Then the next thing he knew, Gatlocke had vaulted towards him- no, _on top_ of him, running over the curve of the block party like a ramp, over onto the other side. He had a cannon fired before Rex could even think to say "a la chingada".

The blast hit earth, but the force of its wake sent Rex off his feet and eating gravel as he tumbled down the remainder of the slope. The sudden impact of flat ground stunned him, and yet he still had enough awareness to make motion to sit up, or even roll over to get back on his feet.

But Gatlocke was upon him by then. The ex-con shoved Rex callously back into the ground and crouched over him, right arm-blades touching the exposed skin of the teen's neck.

"Tag," Gatlocke declared breathlessly, eyes bright like lightning. "You're It."

Rex grit his teeth, trying to find any way at all out of the pin, though Gatlocke caught him shifting and adjusted the blades accordingly. Rex finally slumped in defeat.

"A couple hours," he spoke, no longer too proud to allow a shade of pleading tint his voice. "Tops. That's all I want."

The expression on Gatlocke's face twisted into indignation. "You'd best be joking. The deal was five rounds of tag for every round I win. You were close, Rex. But close isn't winning."

"It's the two-hour special!"

"Watch it online _later_."

"GAT, it's _El Amor, De La Pasion, El Amor_!"

"We. Had. A. Deal."

Gatlocke was obviously not budging, figuratively or literally. He was stupidly good at meeting Rex's stubbornness in that regard, which is how they usually ended up sorting things out physically, taking their altercations to deserted landscapes so as to mollify Providence and the good taxpayers; since after all, the rowdy twosome tended to be rather destructive.

What was more, Rex could have opted out. He could have stuck to his guns when he said "no, not tonight, tonight I have to watch my show," but then Gatlocke had been all "sure thing, mate, no shame about backing out if you're scared you won't win, I know you love your show," and of course that got Rex fired up like "whoa, no one said anything about being scared, I'll beat you and watch my show, I'm the king of having cake and eating it, I'm the king of having _two_ cakes and eating _three_."

And now, he had neither eaten cakes nor possessed them since, well, Gatlocke ended up winning, therefore shitting hard on Rex's whole life because he'd specifically requested time off work for this special televised event. It was going to feature all the original cast members that had long since quit the show or had been killed off. So, yeah. It was gonna be _awesome_, and it just wouldn't be the same watching "later". Not that Gatlocke cared, the prick.

What really rubbed the salt in is that Rex would have won the last round, too, if he had held out of reach for forty more seconds. Now, there was no way he could win five more games of tag in the next half hour he had before El Amor was on. But if Rex chose to run, it'd only be a matter of time before Gatlocke caught up. And even if he made it to a television on time, Gatlocke would likely destroy it out of utter spite.

Shitting hard. On Rex's whole life.

"Don't make that face," Gatlocke spoke after a moment of silence.

Rex blinked up at him, an idea dawning in that moment. He said nothing, only curling his lip and scrunching his eyebrows. He thought about all the times he had ever come close to breaking down- Six nearly dying, Caesar seemingly betraying him, losing Circe to Black Knight's control. Mostly, he focused on the possibility of missing the two-hour special of El Amor, De La Pasion, El Amor.

And slowly, his vision began to mist.

Above him, Gatlocke growled, realizing the other's intent. He pressed the near blade of his arm flat into Rex's throat. "Do not. Do not even _dare_."

Rex supposed it was a bit on the fucked up side that it wasn't even Gatlocke feeling bad for getting him all teary-eyed. This was something different. Gatlocke lacked the sentimentality to be truly merciful. Whatever this was, it lay in the dark part of Gatlocke's brain that spurred him to become a desert pirate, got him a high-security cellblock in Providence, and made others readily deem him a sheer maniac.

For the very first hint of it, Rex had been chopping onions at the time. He tried to wipe the tears off his cheeks and instead found Gatlocke licking his face before hoisting him up to stretch him out and then fucking him for an entire hour on the countertop. Rex had figured it was the domestic scene that had triggered it. He'd been wearing an apron, and all. But then, there was one night after a particularly tragic episode of El Amor that Rex reached for a tissue, only to find Gatlocke suddenly pinning him face-down into the couch cushions and having his way, fucking Rex hard, and coming way quicker than Rex could ever remember Gatlocke ever coming. And that was when Rex had begun picking up a pattern.

In other words, Rex's crying got Gatlocke hot. Like, _way_ hot. Like, Rex wondered if he should probably be a bit bothered by the implications and talk to Gat about it later. A lot later, though, because at the moment, it working well to his advantage.

"But, Gat," Rex whimpered in his most broken, most pathetic voice. The strain of his throat against the flat of Gatlocke's blade helped. "Don't you like this?"

Gatlocke's blade pressed hard against his adam's apple so that he couldn't breathe. The other metal hand moved along his face, smearing the tear trails before curling painfully tight in Rex's hair, grinding his head into the dirt.

"Always," was Gatlocke's low response.

The blades were retracted and Rex coughed on his own rushed inhales of air. Gatlocke shifted on top of him- fumbling with his zipper- and before Rex could fully recover his breath, he got Gatlocke's hard dick shoving past his lips in one belligerent motion. Rex was relieved it hadn't shoved in deep enough to make him gag on it. Meanwhile, the hand in his hair wound even tighter, pulling carelessly, forcefully.

"You are absolutely insufferable," Gatlocke snarled, but the pleasure in overlay began turning his voice into a purr. "You know that?"

Rex hummed in response, letting the vibration cover Gatlocke's length. It was swelled thick, stretching Rex's jaws taut so that he struggled to run his tongue along the underside while keeping suction. It tasted of sweat, but mostly there was precum that Rex had to keep swallowing, and still some leaked from the corners of his mouth. He had his hands on Gatlocke's thighs, partly to coax him, and partly to make sure he didn't push in too deep.

Gatlocke seemed locked in absolute ecstasy, steadily rocking his hips into Rex's mouth. It was stunning how silent he was, since even during sex he'd chatter Rex into orgasm. But now, the only sound that came out of him were slow, open-mouthed breaths, some edged with heavier notes of his voice. Rex wanted to jerk off, but the way Gatlocke was knelt over his chest kept his own dick out of hand's reach. He whined, trying to grind his erection against the front of his pants to no avail.

Funnily enough, that was the moment Gatlocke leaned back, using his free hand to palm at Rex's crotch.

Rex bucked his hips up eagerly, moaning.

"Keep crying, Rexy," Gatlocke breathed.

It wasn't difficult to with dirt from their earlier scuffle falling into his eyes, with a hard cybernetic hand pushing and pulling hard on his hair, with a cock fucking his face like he were a worthless cumbucket fucktoy, with Gatlocke taking his damned sweet time opening Rex's slacks and reaching into his boxers.

By the time fingers wrapped around his wet, aching dick- twirling languid circles around the sensitive head, _fuuuck_- the sob that escaped him wasn't even near being forced.

Gatlocke hissed in response to the sound and shoved forward, closing the remaining gap between his cock and Rex's open throat. Rex gagged, but Gatlocke plunged deep enough that it didn't matter. And suddenly hot jizz was flooding Rex's airway, Gatlocke jerking his hips with staggered grunt. The muscles in his legs trembled briefly before relaxing, and Gatlocke pulled out of Rex's mouth, still spurting liquid white onto the teen's face.

Meanwhile, Rex was bucking desperately into Gatlocke's slackened hand, hacking out cum. He was still choking on it when he came as well, Gatlocke lazily stroking him out, the hand in his hair gently petting as he leaned his head back and felt the pleasure roll through him, blood-warm.

He was aware of Gatlocke resettling in the dirt next to him with an exhausted huff, but Rex remained where he lay, dizzy and winded. Even with rocks sticking into his body at odd places, and the wind picking up a note of chill, and his dick still exposed, he felt like he could just doze off and be well.

"Fifteen minutes until your show," Gatlocke said then.

Rex lurched forward so that he was sitting, staring at Gatlocke with wide, begging eyes. The other had a tired, but amused look on his face.

"Two hours. Tops. Then, more tag."

"THANK YOU!" Rex threw his arms around him, heaving the other man up with him to their feet as he built his sky slyder.

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End file.
